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AT COOL BEANS Café, I ordered a Perfect Woman with a double shot of espresso and extra honey—my exact order from high school. It was a comfort staple, and I knew that Todd, the barista, made a mean latte.

“Always the perfect choice,” said a familiar voice behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder at the tall man smiling at me.

He had a head full of curly brown hair and a sharp-cut jawline, and was dressed in a soft blue T-shirt and light-wash jeans.

For a moment, my brain didn’t compute—he looked like any number of polished tourists that came down for the summer in their boat shoes and Ray-Bans.

But then he smiled, showing incredible dimples—

“ Van? ” I asked in disbelief.

“Hey there,” he greeted me in that charming southern drawl of his.

Last time I saw Van Erickson was … too long ago.

Two weeks after college graduation on the beach in front of the Ferris wheel, purply dusk settling across the ocean.

We’d seen each other every day since we’d been home, sleeping over at his house or mine every night.

After four years of dating while we were at different colleges, I couldn’t get enough of him, and I thought he couldn’t get enough of me, either.

We’d been friends in high school, but a drunk kiss during winter break of our freshman year of college changed everything.

We started dating, and after a while I stopped thinking in me s and more in we s.

Our vacations. Our couch. Our apartment.

Our families. Our future. He was good for me, levelheaded and orderly.

I was good for him, or at least I thought I was.

But then just two weeks after college graduation, sitting on the beach where I’d grown up making sandcastles, he told me his plans for the future—and none of them involved me.

“You are back,” I whispered aloud, and then realized it with a jolt of embarrassment. “Oh my god, did I just say that out loud? I definitely did. I’m sorry, I—”

His smile widened. “I heard you were back, too, Joni.”

Even after nine years, the way he said my name sounded so easy.

Like he had never stopped. I felt that old, soft love flickering awake in my middle, because he always had such a lovely smile, and I was so glad that hadn’t changed.

But then I remembered that he’d broken up with me and left, and I bit the inside of my cheek to ground myself. I was over him.

Had been for nine years.

“So how is, um”—I pretended to rack my brain for where he was now—“Boston, was it?”

“Yeah, you know how I love a good city. You’re out west, right?”

I nodded. “Ever since—” Ever since you left, and then I left. “For the past few years,” I course corrected. “What brings you back?”

“Just helping my parents move into a new house inland,” he replied, putting his hands in his pockets. He hadn’t stopped smiling at me.

As if he was happy to see me.

And I hated how I didn’t hate it at all.

The barista, Todd, cleared his throat, and I realized in mortification that I hadn’t paid for my drink yet. I spun back around. “I am so sorry—”

“Can I get it?” Van asked, and before I could say no, he stepped up and ordered a Joe DiMatcha-io. It was the same thing he had always ordered as a teen, too. After he paid, he winked at me and added, “You always used to pay for mine, so it’s the least I can do.”

I let out a huff of a laugh. “You were always so broke.”

“A lifetime ago,” he replied, returning his wallet to his back left pocket, where he had always put it, and where he’d always slipped my hand, too, when he used to bring me against his chest and kiss me. It was a feeling, no matter how many years I’d been away, that came back like whiplash.

He walked with me over to the other side of the counter as the barista started on our orders. “Speaking of that, I hear you’re pretty successful yourself these days.”

I didn’t want to read between the lines, but did that mean he had asked about me?

“Of course he has,” the voice in my head interjected.

I jolted in surprise, and looked around the small coffee shop, even though I knew the owner of the voice wouldn’t be there. I clenched my teeth. These are private thoughts.

He went on, unbothered, “That’s why he said it the way he did. He wants you to know.”

How can you tell?

“I’m a guy, he’s a guy,” he reasoned.

Van looked around us when he noticed that I was scanning the café, and asked, “Is something the matter?”

“No,” I replied, turning back around, telling myself to ignore the voice in my head. “So—um—what all have you heard?”

He shrugged with one shoulder. “Oh, just things my mom’s said about you. That you made it. You’re a songwriter.”

So he had asked about me. I … didn’t know what to think.

“Told you,” the voice gloated.

“I am,” I said quickly. “I live in LA now. Great food, and I’m only like an hour from the beach so that’s nice, and I can see the mountains from my apartment …”

“Your songs are pretty great, too.”

“So people have said,” I replied. Todd started to steam the milk for my latte, though it felt like he was going purposefully slow, peeking over the top of the machine as he worked. I pulled my braid over my shoulder, tugging on it.

“The new one’s incredible,” Van added. “And I usually don’t like love songs.”

That caught me by surprise, and I quickly looked up at him again to see if he was joking, but his eyes were sincere.

“You’re a musician?” the voice in my head asked, his tone eerily neutral.

Songwriter , I corrected absently.

“Thanks,” I murmured in reply, feeling panic build in my middle.

Todd slid up our orders, and we took them, and Van bade me goodbye. Had places to be, parents to move out of old houses, probably a girlfriend to call or a partner to text or something, until he turned around.

“We should get together,” he said, walking backward toward the door.

Was he—was he asking me out ? “I—um … I …”

“Lemme know, yeah? I think Mitch has my new number. It was really nice seeing you again, Joni,” he added, pushing his back against the door, and the bell above jingled as he left.

He had just asked me out.

I stood there, open-mouthed.

Van Erickson had just asked me out.

Almost nine years to the day since he walked away from me that evening on the beach.

“Not that you’re counting,” the voice pointed out.

I grabbed my latte and fled toward the door to the back patio. I’d come here to have coffee with my best friend, not get picked up by exes.

Though I would be lying if I said I wasn’t ruminating on the idea of it.

I mean, I had been thinking about that night on the beach when “If You Stayed” poured out of me.

It was ancient history, but a part of me wondered if I could have written what everyone was calling a love song if I was entirely over him?

Old love was like riding a bike, after all. You never quite forgot how it felt.

“Remember, it ended badly,” I whispered, convincing myself, as I stepped out of the air-conditioned café and into the seating area.

Despite the name, Cool Beans was not in the least bit cool .

The tables were outside in the sun, protected only by a few large umbrellas that never put out enough shade.

I cupped a hand above my eyes and found Gigi sitting at the farthest picnic table, reading a book.

She lounged across the seat of one of the tables, lying down with her sunglasses on, hovering the book over her face to block out the sun as she read.

When she got bored, she flipped to the last page, scrunched her nose, and then returned to the page she was on.

That was Gigi for you—she always liked to see what was coming. She liked having a plan for it all.

In real life, the future felt like this heavy cloud in the distance, coming closer, a hurricane rumbling just offshore.

I slid onto the bench opposite her, still shaken by my encounter with Van. “That good a book, huh?”

Gigi pushed herself up to sit. “I feel like I’ve read the same sex scene three times already.”

“Is it at least exciting?”

“The first time,” she replied morosely, and shoved her book into her bag. “Was that Van I saw leaving?”

Sipping my latte, I nodded solemnly.

She winced. “Oof. He really did get hot, didn’t he?”

“Tell me about it,” I moaned. Then: “Do you think ‘If You Stayed’ is about him?”

Gigi leaned in and studied me carefully, as if she wasn’t quite sure whether it was a trick question. “I dunno,” she replied finally. “You tell me.”